


All Keyed Up

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:39:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul and Harrison end up at a convention...</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Keyed Up

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #6 under the pen name A.A. O'Mercy.

_"Now_ they'd _make a great buddy pair…"_

 

          "Blackwood, what the devil could aliens want _here?_ "

          Harrison Blackwood closed his eyes, and forced himself to ignore what his brain was telling him he'd just seen sketched on the large matted paper a young woman carried past him.  He shook his head.  Best not to even think about it…

          "Colonel, I don't know anything more than you do.  Why the aliens should show up at—"  He looked around the hotel lobby, finally catching sight of a placard that proclaimed:  The Holiday Inn welcomes Rabble Con.  "Rabble Con… is as much a mystery to me as it is to you."

          "What _is_ Rabble Con, exactly?" the colonel asked, quietly, his eyes flickering over the hordes of female guests as they passed by.

          "I'm not sure, _exactly_ …" Blackwood admitted.  "It reminds me a little of a science fiction convention I attended a few years ago, but I haven't seen any costumes here."

          "Costumes?" Ironhorse hissed.  "You mean we might have to dress up like… like _barbarians_ or something?"

          Harrison rolled his eyes and shook his head.  "No, Colonel, it's not _required_."  He smiled at a group of four women who passed by, eying the partners critically.  They were a cute lot.

          "Now _they'd_ make a great buddy pair, don't you think?" one asked softly, glancing back over her shoulder.

          "Straight or slash?" a second questioned, also helping herself to a second look.

          "Either!" the third enthused.

          "Absolutely," the last concurred.

          The foursome approached the registration desk and waited until the receptionist hung up the phone.  "We're here for Rabble Con.  The reservation's under—"

          "Straight or slash?" Ironhorse questioned, watching the women cautiously.  "What do you suppose _that_ means?"

          Blackwood shrugged.  "Look, maybe we should just get a room and start looking around.  Norton's trying to tap into the hotel's computer so he can pinpoint the source of the transmissions, but it's going to take a little time."

          The colonel nodded.  "It can't hurt for us to get the lay of the hotel and see what's up," he admitted, stepping up to the desk as the four women moved away.

          "The zines are out with the Cherokee," one of them told her companions.

          "Need some help?"

"Sure…"

          A harried receptionist tried to smile as the Colonel leaned onto the counter, watching the departing foursome and wondering what they were doing to the poor Cherokee.  "Can I help you?" she inquired.

          "We'd like a room," Ironhorse said.

          "Are you with the con?"

          "Uh, not exactly," the soldier hedged, wondering if there was going to be any available rooms.

          The woman's precisely manicured fingernails tapped across her computer keyboard.  "Well, I do have one coming open, but it won't be ready for about an hour or two.  Two queen-sized beds."

          "We'll take it."

          "And how many are in your party?"

          "Two," Ironhorse told her.

          "Name?"

          "Paul Ironhorse."

          The woman typed in the information, then reached over to tug free a piece of paper from her printer and slid it over for the colonel to sign.  While he was occupied, she opened a drawer and removed two small envelopes.

          Finished, he pushed the paper back, and she handed him the envelopes.  "These are your keys, but they won't work for another hour or two.  Use the top one first."

          "Thanks," Ironhorse said, accepting the small packages and walking back over to join Blackwood.  "Okay, we're in, but they won't have the room ready for two hours."

          "Great," Blackwood said.  "That'll give us time to take a look around and see if anything looks out of the ordinary."

          Ironhorse shook his head.  Why did he have such a bad feeling about this?  He reached down and scooped up the strap of the camera case/arsenal bag, pulling it over his shoulder.  "After you, Doctor," he said, nodding in the direction the majority of the women were taking.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The pair strolled past the restaurant and bar, then followed two of the young women they'd seen earlier headed for the Cherokee.  Each of the women toted a heavy box.  At the end of the hall they disappeared into a large room full of tables, books, and more women.

          Blackwood grinned.  "My kind of crowd," he said, then noticed columns of science fiction novels stacked up on one table just beyond the door.  Slipping inside before Ironhorse could stop him, Harrison walked over and began scanning the titles.

          "Can I help you find something?" came a disembodied voice from behind the paperback barricade.

          "Thanks, I'm just looking," Harrison explained.

          "'Kay, but if you see one you want, warn me.  I hate getting buried back here."

          "I promise."

Ironhorse stood nearby, keeping an eye on the astrophysicist while he also scanned the gathering crowd.  Tugging the small handheld Geiger-counter free of his jeans pocket, the colonel thumbed it on and headed up the row of folding tables, trying to check the occupants of the room as inconspicuously as possible.

          Sidestepping two women in an animated discussion of the merits of something called "Blakes Seven," Ironhorse nearly trampled one of the young women who'd been lugging boxes earlier.  Leaning over one of the folding tables, she arranged a collection of books across the surface until he collided soundly against her back.

          The colonel twisted, catching her, and she eyed the Geiger-counter critically.  Stepping back, he slid the device casually into his pocket.

          "Communicator?" she asked with a smile.

          "Uh, Geiger-counter," Ironhorse replied, hoping he could come up with a reason for having the device.

          "Oh," was the uninterested reply.  "Can you tug the tablecloth down when I pick up the zines?" she asked.

          "Sure," the colonel said.  She wasn't even fazed!  Who were these people?  _He'd_ want to know why someone had a Geiger-counter at something called Rabble Con.

          She worked her fingers under a large stack of the books and lifted.  Ironhorse tugged the tablecloth a few times until she nodded and set the stack back down.  "Thanks, now I can climb under the table without pulling everything off behind me."

          "No problem," the colonel replied, shaking his head.  He wasn't even going to ask why she didn't walk around to the opening someone had left in the rectangular layout of tables.  He wandered off, scanning the crowd for Blackwood.

          A hand descending on Ironhorse's shoulder prompted the soldier to spin, his hands beginning to come up in a defensive reaction.  "Blackwood," he hissed.  "Don't do that!"

          "Sorry, but you _have_ to see this," the astrophysicist said, his fingers wrapping into the material of the colonel's shirt as he dragged Ironhorse along.  Halfway across the room Blackwood stopped and pointed.  "There."

          Ironhorse looked down, his eye widening.  "Nice.  Very nice," he whispered.

          "Colonel, they're _weapons_."

          "Yes, Doctor, I can see that," the Cherokee replied, reaching out to run a fingertip along one of the wide medieval knife blades.  "But they're just re-creations."

          "Re-creations?" Harrison questioned.

          "They're not real," Ironhorse clarified.

          "But it's hard to tell," the dealer said with a smile.  "Unless you're an expert.  I see you appreciate a fine blade."

          Ironhorse grinned.  "Oh, yeah."  He turned to glare at Blackwood.  "Come on, Doctor."

          Together the partners prowled through the dealer's room, sporadically checking the Geiger counter and stopping to peruse some of the more unusual titles on the books, which were called zines by the women moving amongst the tables and buying large quantities of the items.

          "Blackwood, there's nothing here."

          Harrison nodded, stalking away.  "Let's try another room."

          Ironhorse shook his head, but trailed after the retreating scientist.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The small sign posted next to the nearest door read:  Rabble con Art Show.  Must be 21 to enter.

          "I wonder why…" the colonel mused.

          Blackwood had a pretty good idea, but he wasn't about to spoil the reaction he was expecting.  Reaching for the door, he held it open so Ironhorse could enter first, then stepped in behind him.

          The soldier made a quick visual sweep of the room, checked the Geiger-counter, then finally allowed himself to actually _look_ at the paintings and drawings hanging on the panels that ran in two parallel rows down the middle of the room.  The almond-shaped eyes rounded.

          "Did you see this?" Ironhorse squeaked.

          "Hmmm," Blackwood replied, stepping up to stare at one particular piece.  Two naked men were entangled in an erotic pose.  The scientist's head tilted.  "Colonel," he said, pointing.  "Is that possible?  I don't think it is.  I mean—"

          Ironhorse slapped Harrison's hand.  "Don't point, Doctor," he whispered, casting furtive glances around to see if they'd been noticed.  A few women moved along the panels, but they didn't seem interested in the two Project members…  Ironhorse knew why.

          "Wow," someone on the other side of their panel enthused.  "This is _nice_.  I didn't know Heyes and Curry looked like _that_."

          "Did you see Lundy and LaFiamma over there with the leather and—"

          "Yes!  That was de-licious.  But I'm holding out for that _Quantum Leap_ piece.  Al never looked better!"

          "I'm sorry, but the Illya in black satin is the _one_."

          Ironhorse and Blackwood exchanged uncomfortable glances.  "I think we'd better leave, Doctor," the colonel whispered.  "I don't think it's safe in here."

          The astrophysicist nodded his agreement.  "But I'm not sure it's safe out there, either."

          Skulking out of the art show, the two men prowled through the remainder of the hotel, failing to turn up any sign of the aliens who'd transmitted from the location earlier.

          "Maybe Norton was wrong," Ironhorse suggested hopefully.

          "I hope you plan on telling him that, because I'm not."

          The colonel sighed.  "Fine.  We'll keep looking."  He checked his watch.  "And the room should be ready.  Let's get our gear stowed and get something to eat before we make a second sweep."

"Sounds like a—"  Harrison halted mid-sentence, staring as a collection of two-footed cats ambled down the hallway.  "Did you—?"

          "I saw them," Ironhorse reassured.  "Let's go."

          "Maybe this is a costume con after all."

          "Maybe it's alien genetic experiments, but, either way, we have to check it out."

          Moving down the hall the cats had taken, Ironhorse and Blackwood followed the pride until they disappeared into a room.  Walking up to the door they spotted a sign taped to the wall.  "Welcome to the Litter Box.  Come on in!"

          "I think not," Blackwood stated.

          "I concur."  Turning at the sound of voices, Ironhorse smiled at the four women trekking down the hall.  They were getting all too familiar.  "Excuse me, do you know who these people are?" he asked.

          "Sure," volunteered one of the women.  "They're singing, dancing, poetry-reciting cats…  This year.  They're usually tunnel people, except for Vincent, who's a cat – sort of – either way.  They'll be at the cabaret if you'd like to see what they do."

          "Thank you," Blackwood said and the women continued on their way.  "I'm getting a headache," he told Ironhorse.

          "I've already got that base covered, Doctor.  Let's find the room.  _Now_."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ten minutes and four wrong turns later the two Project members finally found their room.  One of the hotel staff smiled as Ironhorse checked the number written on the small envelope with the one over the open door as she maneuvered her cart out of the room.

          "This is it."

          "And it's all ready, now," the woman said with a shy smile.

          "Thank you," Blackwood replied, smiling back.

          Once inside, Ironhorse tossed the two small envelopes on the dresser and deposited his disguised arsenal bag on the bed nearest the door.  "I'll go get the rest of the equipment.  You stay here."

          "Fine," Blackwood said, studying the list of free cable movies available.

          "Doctor, we're here on business."

          "I know that, Colonel, but I have a curious mind."

          "Twisted is more like it," the soldier muttered.  "Just stay here until I get back, and _don't_ open the door."

          "Right."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse stood outside the hotel room, noticing for the first time that the doors were secured with electro-magnetic locks.  He tested the handle-like knob, but it refused to budge.  He knocked.  "Blackwood?" he called.

          "Who's there?"

          "It's me, damn it," Ironhorse growled, trying not to blush as the four women they'd most recently met outside the Litter Box passed by, slowing down and trying not to giggle as they listened to the exchange.  "Open the door," he growled.

          "But you told me _not_ to open the door.  Use the key."

          "Damn it, Blackwood, I left the key on the dresser.  Open the door!"

          "Colonel, how do I know you're the colonel?"

          "Blackwood, if you don't open that door I'm going to use you for target practice!"  A burst of laughter erupted from farther down the hall.  "Please!"

          The door cracked open and Ironhorse stormed in.  "That _wasn't_ funny, Doctor.  There were people out there!"

          "Yes, Paul, I know.  It's a hotel.  They were guests."

          Ironhorse's eyes narrowed into slits and his lips compressed into a thin line.

          "I don't know about you, but I'm starved," Blackwood said cheerfully.  He scooped up the envelopes with the keys and shoving them into the colonel's hand.  "Don't forget these this time," he said, heading for the door.  "Which way to the restaurant?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Crossing over the glass walkway spanning the parking lot and joining the two halves of the hotel, Ironhorse slapped Blackwood's shoulder and pointed.  "Down there."

          Skulking around the mass of parked cars, three men in grey coveralls were prying off hubcaps.

          "Three of them…" Blackwood pondered aloud.  "You don't think—?"

          "Come on!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse burst through the door and into the parking lot, Blackwood on his heels.  The two paused, their eyes scanning across the cars.

          "Where are they?" Harrison breathed.  "They were right here."

          "Stay behind me, Doctor," Ironhorse said as he moved into the parked vehicles.  As they proceeded the colonel noted the extent of the vandalization.

          "What could they possibly want with hubcaps?" Blackwood mused.

          After a thorough inspection of the lot, and being stopped three times to see if they were valet parking attendants, the two Project members headed for the restaurant for a well-learned meal.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "So we know what they're doing here, but I still can't imagine why," Blackwood said as he munched on his salad.

          "I think we should let the hotel know what's going on," Ironhorse said, stabbing his steak more violently than usual.

          "What can they do?  If they have someone stand out there, there's a good chance the aliens will just take the person over."

          The colonel sighed.  That was a real possibility.  "We can't just let them have free rein in the hotel either, Doctor.  There are too many innocent—"  Ironhorse pushed out of his chair.  "There," he said, nodding at three men in grey coveralls passing by the door.  "I'll get my equipment, you follow them," he instructed, bolting off.

          "But, Colonel—"  Blackwood stood, pulling a twenty from his pocket and dropping it on the table.  "One of these days _he's_ going to pay for a meal."

          Harrison followed the soldier out the door, then set off after the aliens with a casual air, while Ironhorse sprinted off toward the stairs in the opposite direction.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Reaching the door, Ironhorse fished the envelopes out of his pocket and studied them.  The receptionist had told him to use one of the keys first, but which one?  And what the hell difference did it make?

          Shaking his head, the colonel pulled out one of the metal cards punched through with small holes and slid it into the lock.  A small red light appeared, and he tested the handle, but it refused to give.

          With a sigh, Ironhorse pulled the key out, reinserted it and tried again.  The handle didn't budge.

          A steady stream of soft curses accompanied the colonel's continued efforts to open the door.  He tried the second key with the same results.

          "Can I help you?"

          Ironhorse, intent on defeating the stubborn mechanism, jumped and spun around to find one of the custodial staff watching him with an appreciative, if amused expression.  "Huh, yes.  I can't seem to get this door to open."

          The woman stepped up and took the key Ironhorse handed her.  Slipping the thin metal card into the lock, she paused a beat, pulled it free, and tried the handle.  Nothing.  She frowned.  "Is this the first time you've tried the door?"

          The colonel nodded, growing more nervous.  This was taking far too long.  Blackwood was trailing aliens and he was stuck, locked out of his own room!

          "Did you use the right keycard first?  They should have told you at the desk."

          "I'm, I'm not sure."

"I'll bet that's the trouble.  If you take the keys back to the desk they can reset them for you."

          "Thanks," he said, sprinting down the hall.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Reaching the lobby, Ironhorse skidded to a stop when he found Blackwood sitting on a floral-patterned couch and watching television.  "Doctor?"

          "Hi, Colonel."

          "Where—?"

          Blackwood nodded past the large windows to the three aliens seated on a cement bench just outside the main entrance.

          "What are they doing?" Ironhorse asked.

          "Nothing," Harrison replied, standing.  "They've been there the entire time.  "You ready?"

          "No," the colonel snapped.  "The damned key wouldn't work."

          Blackwood's eyebrows climbed.

          Before the astrophysicist could ask any embarrassing questions, Ironhorse spun and stalked over to the desk.  The same receptionist who had checked him in smiled.  "Yes?"

          "My key doesn't work," he said, sliding both envelopes across the imitation marble countertop.

          The woman eyed him critically.  "They should."  Ironhorse shrugged and tried to give her a crooked smile.  Shaking her head, she pulled her key drawer open and performed whatever magic was required.  "Now, use this one first," she instructed,

handing one back.  Ironhorse nodded and stuck it in his shirt pocket.  "Then," she continued, "this one will work."

          "Thank you," the colonel said, taking the second key and walking back to join Harrison.  "Here," he said handing the scientist the second small envelope.  "I'll be back with the equipment."

          Blackwood nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse smiled at the four women he seemed to be running into all over the hotel.  They nodded politely, but seemed slightly upset.

          Reaching the door, Ironhorse pulled the envelope out of his pocket, nearly dislodging the Visa card he carried on trips like this.  Poking the credit card back into his pocket, he removed the metal card, stuck it in the lock, paused, pulled it out and tried the handle…

          "Damn it!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "I really don't know what the problem is," the receptionist grumbled.  "You didn't have the key next to any car keys, did you?"

"No."

          "Loose change?"

          "No."

          "Credit cards?"

          Ironhorse's eyes closed momentarily, and he reached up and tapped his pocket, confirming the plastic card's presence.  "Can you fix it?"

          The woman worked for a moment and slid the now too familiar envelope back to him.  "But this also means that the second key will have to be re-keyed or it won't work."

          Blackwood nodded, listening to the discussion while he continued to watch the aliens still sitting on the cement benches.  He carried the card over.

          "Right," Ironhorse grumbled.  Holding the newly prepared key in his hand, he headed back for the room.

          On the stairs he passed the four women, and wondered briefly if they weren't aliens since they apparently traveled everywhere together.  They were getting more annoyed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Reaching the door, the colonel carefully removed the metal keycard, inserted it into the door lock with the care and precision of a laser surgeon, pulled it cautiously from the mechanism, saw the green light flash, gripped the handle, pushed, and…

          He was in.  He was actually in the room!  Amazing…

          Grabbing the camera bag, he headed directly back into the hall, then paused.  Maybe he should bring a jacket so he could wear the battle baton or his Beretta concealed, but handy.  He nodded.  Returning to the door, he removed the keycard a second time and repeated the procedure.  Nothing.  He hissed a stream expletives guaranteed to melt the lock down and tried again.

          "Colonel!  They're coming!"

          He looked up to find Blackwood bearing down on him.  "What?!"

          "Aliens, right behind me!"

          Ironhorse tried the door again and found it still stubbornly refusing to allow him access to the room.  Harrison grabbed a handful of the man's shirt and dragged him down the hall until they found an open door where one of the custodial staff was making up a room.

          The two men stumbled in, Ironhorse reaching out and wrapping Blackwood in his arms to keep him from stumbling over several strategically placed boxes of the zine-things.  The two female occupants of the room, as well as the maid, looked up at the pair and grinned.

          "You must be here about the U.N.C.L.E. slash, right?"

          "Uh… yes…  Yes, we are," Blackwood said as Ironhorse roughly settled him on his feet and took a hasty step away.

          "It's fifteen," the woman said, picking up one of the zines and holding it out to Blackwood.

Harrison fished out his wallet and paid the woman, accepting the zine in return.  "Thanks," he said.

          "No problem.  Hope you enjoy it.  And it's nice to see some men here for a change – and reading slash."

          "We're finding it quite an education," Blackwood informed her.  Turning, the scientist found Ironhorse at the door.  "Where'd they go?" he asked the soldier as he joined him.

          "Beats me."

          "We'd better go find them."

          Ironhorse nodded as he stalked back into the hall and headed back to the room.  "First I'm getting back in that room.  I have enough C-4 here to blow the whole floor to Mars if I have to…"

          "Colonel, I don't think that would be such a good idea."

          Ironhorse glowered at the man.  "Were the aliens chasing you?" he asked, ignoring the comment.  He was ready to blow up something.

          "No," Harrison explained after they arrived back at the door and he watched Ironhorse working.  "They were on the move, so I decided to follow them.  They crossed over the parking lot… went down and into the Litter Box, then back out… started over the parking lot again, then suddenly changed direction.  I was running to keep them from seeing me."  Blackwood paused in his tale as the four now familiar women stormed by, looking like a lynch mob.

          "I think we should contact Norton and let him know about the hubcaps," the colonel said through gritted teeth.  "He can run the information through the Cray and see if the computer has any idea what they might be up to."

          Blackwood nodded, thumbing through the zine while he waited for Ironhorse to tire.  A particular passage caught the scientist's attention and he allowed himself to be sucked into the story.  "Hmm, I think I know what they mean by slash now, Colonel."

          "What?" Ironhorse asked distractedly after he delivered a swift kick to the door.

          Harrison looked up, then paused, watching the four women swarm by again.

          "Never mind, Doctor.  I'm getting in this room, one way or another…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          " _Still?_ " the receptionist asked, the exasperation clear in her voice.  "Okay, there must be something wrong with the lock on the door.  I'll have a serviceman go take a look.  Come back in an hour and I'll have new keys for all of you."

          " _Thank you_ ," one of the four women managed without swearing.

          A muffled rumble echoed down the stairs and into the lobby, followed by a slight rattling of the glass window panes.

          "Thunder?" one of the women asked.

          "The sun's shining," countered another.

"Earthquake?" asked a third.

          "That's California, remember?"

          "Oh, yeah."

          "I know!" said the fourth.

          "What?" the three chorused.

          "The two good-looking guys… the C-4…  Remember?"

          "Yeah!  Think they'd share?"

          "Let's go ask!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "They were doing what?!"

          "Stealing satellite television signals," Norton reiterated.

          "Why?" Blackwood asked, watching Ironhorse as he prowled behind Norton's wheelchair.

          "You're asking me?" the hacker questioned.  "Look, folks, I just feed the information in, I _don't_ tell mama Cray what to say."

          Harrison scratched his chin thoughtfully.  "So they must use the concave surfaces in some sort of dish pattern, maybe a parabola – like we did at Grover's Mill – that might snag the signals, and—"

          "Why not just steal a satellite dish?" Ironhorse demanded.

          "Colonel, if we could answer that, we could win this war tomorrow.  We don't know _why_ they do things the way they do they're—"

          " _Aliens_ ," Drake finished for the astrophysicist.

          The colonel sighed.  " _Which_ signals were they stealing?"

          Norton grinned.  "Well, I'm not a hundred percent certain on this, big guy, but it looks like the Home Shopping Network…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse sat in his favorite chair, trying to forget Houston, the aliens, conventions, and the damage he was going to have to pay for.  You'd think he'd blown up the entire floor instead of one measly door.

          Suzanne and Debi wandered in, Norton buzzing along behind them.  They settled along the couch, Suzanne with a journal, Debi and Norton over a chess board the hacker had in his lap.  Ironhorse watched the progress of the game until Blackwood entered and stopped in front of his chair.

          "Here you are, Colonel," Harrison said, dropping the zine from Houston into his lap.  "You should take a look, it's _very_ interesting."

          The colonel eyed the item suspiciously, then, with everyone watching, he opened the zine and started reading.

          Blackwood sat down on the couch and watched the soldier, trying hard not to giggle.  It took ten minutes before Ironhorse found "the good stuff," but the wait was well worth it.  First the colonel's eyes grew slightly wide, then the blush started creeping up his neck, spread across his cheeks and turned the edge of his ears bright red.  There was a sharp intake of breath.

          Blackwood snickered.

          Suzanne glanced up over the top of her journal, glancing from one man to the other and wondering what Harrison had found to torture the colonel with this time.

          Norton and Debi left their game, taking more enjoyment from the expressions passing over Ironhorse's face.  "Gee, that must be pretty good,"  the teenager commented when Ironhorse gulped, shifted uncomfortably in his chair and lowered his nose closer to the page.

          Ironhorse's head snapped up, the light brush of red across his cheeks flaring to scarlet while his ears shone like Christmas tree lights.  "Uhhhh…"

          "Yes, Debi," Blackwood supplied.  "The colonel is receiving an education, exposure to an entirely new world of thoughts and ideas."

          Ironhorse's eyes narrowed and his lips disappeared into a line that threatened violence.  Standing, he stalked to the astrophysicist and dropped the zine into his lap, spun on his heel and started from the room.

          "Phobic, Colonel?" Harrison called after him.

          The soldier stopped at the entrance to the hallway and turned.  "No, Doctor…"  He paused, his eyes fixed on the floor.  Then, looking up added.  "But did you read what they did to those men?  And they seemed like such nice, _normal_ women."

          "Excuse me?" Suzanne asked, her eyes growing wide.  "Is there something about Houston you forgot to mention?"

          "Sounds interesting," Norton added, leaning forward slightly and rubbing his hands together.

          The blush deepened.  "No, Mr. Drake.  It's nothing."

          Blackwood grinned.  "Actually, Norton, it's slash."

          "Slash?" Norton, Suzanne and Debi chorused.

          "Can I see?" Debi asked, sticking out her hand.

          "No!"  The four turned to stare at Ironhorse.  "I mean, I think Suzanne should take a look _before_ Debi reads that."

          Blackwood nodded.

          Debi bounced back against the sofa, folding her arms across her chest.  "It's got something to do with sex, right?" she groused.

          "Slash?" Norton prompted growing more and more curious himself.

          "Yes, you see…"  And Blackwood was off.

          Ironhorse shook his head.  Where did they come up with this stuff?  It wasn't like he was homophobic or anything.  He'd had gay friends, and he was comfortable with his own sexuality…  Still, the things the writers put those poor men through…  He shivered at the thought.  They were a dangerous lot, those fans…  Heaven help them if the aliens ever took over some of their bodies.  It could mean the end of the war!  He paused.  Then again, if the fans were recruited properly, they could be a huge asset as well.  He'd have to think about that one, but one thing was certain, he was _not_ going to any more of those conventions with Blackwood.  The man was a hazard.  Maybe he could sneak off alone…


End file.
